


Sanitarium

by LeafOfTrees



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Mystery, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22790599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafOfTrees/pseuds/LeafOfTrees
Summary: Brother, you've trapped me here in this boiling hell and fed my fear. You've been whispering things into my brain, assuring my insanity. They told me "welcome to where time stands still, no one ever leaves and no one ever will. Welcome, Dante, to Ravenshead Sanitarium."
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

This is a collaborative project between myself and my good friend Angel Wolf ( https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6266892/), this story may also be found on Angel Wolf’s profile on fanfiction.net

Chapter 1 ~ Welcome Home

Thick fog shrouded the landscape. Early-morning dew clung to the foliage of the hidden garden, the tall green hedges of the maze behind barely visible. Ravenshead Priory sat nestled among three hundred acres of parkland, the 12th century building a former monastic residence securely gated and hidden away from the local surrounding towns, the view obscured by the dense thicket of woodland. Built from coarse and squared rubble and ashlars with plain tiles and slate roofs, the abbey was first founded as a priory built around a central courtyard.

Along the west, the property front where remnants of the original church stood, the sky it's roof and the greensward it's floor, a fragment of architecture of the early thirteenth century with characteristics of geometric tracery remained visible, a glorious remnant of the gothic pile. It was a new canvas to glimpse during daylight hours and a galaxy to be discovered under the cover of darkness, truly, this vast building depicting bygone characteristics, well proportioned framework windows on the front face, was a place of history. Each aperture ended in a curved arch pointing to the smaller stained-glass windows above, all playing out ghoulish images; twisted demons being cast into the bowels of hell, growling gargoyles with piercing eyes and snarling snouts.

Twin spired-towers rose tall beyond the main building, stark against the gloomy backdrop of rolling storm clouds. Such gloominess brought about a feeling oppressive in nature, certainly if one knew the nature in which this place was currently used, the sense of disquiet would tingle the spine.

Owned long ago by Lord Ramiro, his poetry drenched in romanticism earned him a place among high society, and eventually he came to preside over the land. Presently, the abbey was owned by a doctor skillfully practiced in maladies of the psychological. Unsurprising, then, that Ravenshead Priory was now Ravenshead Sanitarium, a well-standing psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane. Part prison, part mental institution, it was a facility specific to housing persons deemed too dangerous to remain among regular society.

The small neighboring towns had a wide berth to Ravenshead Abbey, though they generally avoided visits to the property despite the good doctor's popularity among the villages.

The peaceful early-morning silence was suddenly broken by the approach of motor vehicles, the ambulance was flanked by a police escort, wheels crunching along the gravel pathway leading up to the large property, the thick fog slowly beginning to lift revealing immense parkland and gardens.

Today it seemed the facility was to acquire a new patient, the local police department reached out to the lead physiatrist, a one Dr. James Rickshaw of Ravenshead Sanitarium. The call had come two days previously after officers had apprehended a repeat offender wandering the streets known to have been responsible for injuring countless police officials, and armed with offensive and dangerous weapons.

A young man, his attitude exuding cocky bravado and his hair as pale as moonlight curtaining his sapphire eyes, the arresting officers' viewed him as an easy target. He stuck out like a sore thumb on those destitute streets. It didn't take long for a court trial, and this was where things took an exceptionally odd turn. The boy began spouting off nonsense about demons. Apparently, he thought himself a 'devil-hunter,' and following a thorough psychological evaluation by the court's resident doctor, they had reached the conclusion the delinquent was deeply disturbed and likely suffering from severe paranoid delusions.

Dr. Rickshaw was a highly respected man within his field, he ran the very best facility for the criminally insane.

Many who entered the institute never returned to regular society, spending the remainder of their lives within its confines.

This was a reality that those in law and order saw all too often, vulnerable people suffering from mental health disorders and finding themselves institutionalized indefinitely.

Thankfully, most psychiatric care facilities had been raised to new mandatory standards. If anything, the young man would at least be comfortable.

The armored meat wagon transporting the patient came to a halt outside the sanitarium's steps. Lights flickered on behind the large oak double-doors. Coming to a stop behind the ambulance, the officers climbed from their patrol car waiting for the driver to open the door.

Meanwhile, the main entrance creaked open and a tall man flanked by two male nursing staff approached.

"Welcome, I'm Dr. Rickshaw." He raked a hand through his short brown hair, blue eyes twinkling behind his spectacles, "I assume the trip was without issue?"

The officers looked to the transport driver.

"No problems at all, he was quite calm." The driver reached into the vehicle's cabin and pulled out a recently compiled file. The patient's portfolio. He handed it off to the good doctor before moving to open the rear compartment.

"Can't say I've ever seen him anything but calm." The second officer put in scratching his head, he was young, having only joined the police force two years ago.

"You shoulda seen him in court," the first officer said, an aging man with graying hair, "I never heard anything like it. He went on yappin' about demons attacking people, got real into the whole idea that the Church covered the whole thing up . . . I tell ya, this boy is cracked."

Dr Rickshaw glanced at the documents in his hands, the sleeves of his beige sweater rolled up passed his elbows.

"He's been suffering full blown hallucinations . . . that can happen with delusional paranoia, but we'll run more diagnostics once we get him checked in. He could be suffering any number of mental illnesses." But both officers just shrugged at him, uncaring about the young man's condition.

They had nearly completed the task at hand that they'd been assigned: transport the patient from the city to the countryside, two towns over, into the care of Dr. Rickshaw.

Beyond that, they didn't give a damn what was wrong with him.

Behind them, the property began to come alive. The many-barred windows lit up and curtains began to be pulled open by numerous staff members. Having never completed a drop off to this facility before, the young officers hadn't known what to expect. Certainly, when glancing over at the imposing structure, it appeared simply a wealthy estate gradually extended over time by various generations of owners. The rookie's partner had informed him on the ride over that, within the facility, there were two levels. The third and fourth floors of the building were primarily wards for patients with medium psychological afflictions, while the levels beneath the main house itself served to harbor those with more severe mental disorders, and they also discussed rumors pertaining to solitary confinement for the patients' own safety. Many an invalid who'd been transferred from other holding facilities and legal departments, or high-security prisons, dwelled within these lower quarters.

The dinner hall and recreation rooms all were situated on the ground floor positioned separately from the patient care units, along with numerous rooms used for therapy sessions.

Though it might've looked conservative on the outside to some, its innards held tremendous space for its guests, as well as the utility rooms housed within an extension at the back of the building.

The main reception sat within the entry way through the front doors. Who knew what truly lurked beneath the ground.

Opening the back of the transport, the two officers observed the new arrival laying down on the metal bench sputtering his lips, hands cuffed together by silver steel. He paid them no attention.

"Mister Dante." The elder officer spoke cynically, beckoning to him, "While I see you've enjoyed the ride, we don't got all day. Let's go."

"Hmm?" The man looked up at the officer commanding him, as though he only just noticed him, "Oh, actually the ride wasn't all that good. You gotta tell that guy who drove me not to hit so many bumps. Sleeping on metal is hard enough as it is."

The silver-haired man smirked at the cop. He wasn't too bright by his estimation.

"Get outta the truck." The officer replied.

"Alrighty. Whatever ya say, Jeeves." The patient sardonically replied. He uncrossed his legs and jumped to his feet to exit the vehicle, his eyes sweeping over the congregation.

The staff all surveyed him with guarded looks, all except Dr Rickshaw.

The man saw the glares and stares, and simply mock-dropped his jaw, then closed it with the fingers of his right hand. His attempt at levity was not received swimmingly.

Dr Rickshaw stepped forward, his spectacles slipped down his sharp nose as he quietly assessed the pale haired man.

"Howdy. You must be the good doctor. Got any drugs? Or is this one of those talk-therapy-only asylums?"

Paying no mind to the young man's attitude, the physician stepped forward with a bright-eyed smile. Easily, he was used to far worse treatment by now.

The man could tell that this would be a particularly difficult case.

"Mister Dante, it's a pleasure to have your company here, but you mustn't view our process in such an outdated fashion." He chuckled, "You're in good hands and we'll do our very best to help."

The young man gave a snort, "Uh-huh, whatever ya say Doc."

The doctor remained all-smiles as he pulled an orderly aside and whispered, "This one's spirited, put him in solitary."

And they walked the boy inside. Off to the front desk for registration. The good doctor handled all his paperwork, but the self-professed hunter was disappointed that they subsequently parted ways. The two orderlies that had accompanied Rickshaw stepped forward to escort the silver-haired man to his chamber. The trio tread across numerous hallways past all sorts of rooms, the sight of unwanted refuse from society suffocating all the rooms. Another day, another pessimist, he thought.

Awful rackets reached their ears as they passed numerous closed doors, the sound of fists banging on walls and doors echoed as they further traversed the hallways. Distantly, he thought he could hear sweet singing, the voice of a small, childlike woman.

The man known as Dante caught a fleeting glance of a wispy figure through a slight opening as he passed by the door. A shimmer of bright blonde hair caught his eye.

The sweet siren song faded as the small party continued on, the silver-haired man shoved onward by the others. Eventually, they proceeded to descend a winding staircase leading to the level below.

New sounds soon met their ears as they entered a dimly lit hallway. It was ice-cold down here, oppression was heavy in the air and the weak illumination cast a gloominess despite its white-washed walls. Each door they passed was cast from thick steel with only a letterbox opening for staff to peer inside each room.

"Ain't this cozy." The young man whistled sweeping his eyes along the hallway. Inane chatter and babbling emanated all around him as he entered the room the orderlies directed him to. Booming laughter sounded as the metal door closed behind him. The decor of his chamber was plainer than black canvas, not a splash of color visible to him. He could still hear the commotion from fellow patients, though thankfully the dark walls were exceptionally thick and the door was firmly shut and locked. All the clamor of insanity was muffled.

"Guess it's just me, myself and I, then." He murmured as he laid back again the lumpy mattress of his bed.

Blue eyes stared up at the ceiling, though he appeared perfectly at ease lounging.

But, beneath that tough exterior, his thoughts darkened. They turned to recent events . . . touching, however-briefly, on the new traumas, he'd suffered.

He swiftly crushed the thought process down before it took him to a place he truly wished to never visit again. Being apprehended by the local police force had amused him at the time, though he hadn't counted on being sectioned. With a second glance around his room, he figured he might as well ride it out.

After all he had nothing better to do.

To Be Continued


	2. Session One

**Chapter 2 ~ Session One**

Silence reigned complete over the office as the gathered patients sat within a circle surrounded by a patrol of secure orderlies dressed in tactical riot-control gear, organized into a group by Dr. Rickshaw. The spectacled man consulted his notes studiously, gleaming incite on how he might proceed from the old writings. The heavy, plodding, pulsing drops of rain tapped against the window panes over and over, rattling, rattling, rattling away. The only sound that broke the quiet within the modest, almost cozy great room was the odd click of Rickshaw's pen. Muffled rumbles of thunder sounded many long distances away, accompanied by an ever-so-brief blink of lightning that brightened the dismal sky.

All light was smothered by grey-blue clouds and an uneasy atmosphere lay thick in the air.

The occupants comprising the six had been corralled and forced together by the doctor with the sole intent of discourse, perhaps trying to understand each of their mental afflictions more socially.

Dante sat back in his chair, legs crossed at the ankles, hands resting behind his head.

Having been under confinement to his 'room' for what seemed like weeks, the devil hunter was relishing this new freedom. Rickshaw clapped his hands together, the sharp zing instantly gaining acknowledgment from the individuals in the circle. Each of these patients were under his medical care. He had worked with them before during individual sessions, as was standard. Every session conducted with a lone specimen presaged a group therapy session. Specifically, this group had been organized around unique cases, ones which shared a common denominator that set them apart.

Unorthodox cases were his field of speciality.

The good doctor had long been overseeing the project, and he'd seen some faces come and go. The perception of reality was a faculty he'd long sought to understand. This was his opportunity, for the betterment of all scientific understanding. It was a public room within which the recovery was conducted, and had been cleared of all other patients, sent off to other community rooms and cells, as they always were. The group remained within the darkened lounge, lit primarily by an old chandelier up above. Orderlies stood in wait all around them.

Beside the doctor was a table upon which sat a machine. He looked over and pressed a button on the recorder beside him, and started his briefing.

"Log session 206, November seventh, 2004, at six-thirty-five p.m. Begin."

Rickshaw smiled and exhaled a calm sigh.

"Alright, welcome everyone. Most of you know one another by now, but, seeing as we're being joined by a new patient today, I think it appropriate to start with introductions again," he said, then motioned towards the white-haired man, "This is our newest recruit, Dante."

Dante smirked and gave a half-hearted wave.

"To start you off, I'll go first. I'm Dr Rickshaw, I've worked here for ten years and I will be, as always, your lead clinician," he looked to his left to show the next person along.

Curious eyes set upon the doctor as he put pen to paper in preparation, nodding for the man he'd chosen to speak. He seemed older than most, though it didn't seem to impact his personality one iota. Dante was quick to follow the doctor's line of sight to the proud fellow idling next to him, dark hair spilling over his shoulders, a shaggy goatee beneath a well-kept mustache adorning the lower-half of his face, and brown eyes gleaming mirth.

"All right mate, the name's Jack, been around a while now . . ." he counted along his fingers adorned with gold and jeweled rings, "seven years or thereabouts, I've been in here too long."

Muted laughs and snickers came.

"Excellent, thank you Jack."

"No worries Doc, you know I can't resist a good conversation. By the way, we never did have that chin wag about those bevvies," Jack stretched in his chair with a wide grin.

"Err- another time Jack, there's a lot to get through today," Rickshaw radiated stilted awkwardness as he gestured from Jack to the next individual.

"Aye, I'll hold ya to that."

Dante threw the man an amused grin and he responded in kind, and they acknowledged respect with a nod. In the next chair over, an elfin woman stood and greeted the gathered group with her smile. Ringlets of silky gold trailed passed her shoulders to rest above her waistline, her skin the color of porcelain, and those eyes twinkling sapphires. Girlish and young, she reflected that of an old Victoria doll, even down to her sense of dress, though what she had to work with was certainly more raggedy.

She seemed an innocent creature to look upon. That shade of blonde was familiar to Dante, and it occurred to him that she was in fact the same woman he'd seen on his first day.

She quickly ran her gaze along the circle, pink lips stretching into a smile complete with two dimples on either side.

"Hello, my name is Wendy . . ." she bit her lip shyly, "I, um, I haven't been here very long . . . just shy of a year," her small form swayed from side to side as she sheepishly faced the silent group, "but, I'm friendly, so don't be mean!"

She flashed another smile that was much too young for her, then plopped down back in her chair.

"Thank you Wendy," Rickshaw replied.

"Adorable," drawled the woman next to her, "I suppose I'll go next then."

There stood a beautifully carved woman, luscious red locks framing an alluring face of classic fashion, and remarkable eyes of liquid silver roared out from beneath her vivid canopy. The young man couldn't help but to be enthralled with her. Rapturous beauty was a thing often squandered on lesser beings, humans that abused their gifts for gains not in their rights to own. A cool aura of bliss seemed to wash over the room as she'd spoken, and the look in her otherworldly eyes spelled a man's desire for self-destruction.

The sound of a chair scraping the floor caught Dante's attention. Jack had moved to sit beside him. His brown eyes set firmly on the pale beauty ahead of them, he let out a low whistle and leaned in.

"Fine lass, isn't she?" eyes alight, "deadly too, I'd wager . . . a siren if ever I saw one."

Dante glanced curiously at the man.

"You a sailor, Jack?" the devil hunter questioned, reluctantly tearing his gaze from the naiad.

The dark-haired man almost barked out a laugh and he leaned closer, "aye, d'ya believe in reincarnation?"

"Can't say I've thought about it."

Jack responded with a grin, speaking in his accented way, "few do. Anyhow, a long time ago, in another life, I was a dreaded pirate captain, swashbuckling and ruthless. Had my ship, a crew, plenty o' rum and lawmen sailin' after me, life was grand, if a lil' unclean by modern standards."

The pale patient raised an eyebrow and sat back with a smirk, chuckling to himself, "Neat, whatever ya say Cap'n."

When it became apparent that silence had fallen, their gazes turned back to the curvaceous redhead.

She was staring at both of them blankly, and when it sunk in for them, she simply asked, "Oh, do I have your attention now?"

Dante continued smiling, and he kept his eyes fixed on her, nodding.

Glossy red lips stretched into a smile, "Good . . . I'm Pamela, this has been my home for nine years, and I enjoy it when men talk about me within earshot."

Her gaze then touched upon the new inmate exclusively, piercing and appraising.

"Is this necessary, Doctor?" said the redhead as she sauntered toward to a decaying potted plant in the corner, her fingers lightly brushing the wilting leaves, "I find these sorts of formalities so boring, even if it's for the benefit of a handsome stranger."

"Please retake your seat, Pamela," Rickshaw instructed.

The woman groaned, mourning her fated seat beside a largely-built, butch companion of the same sex. Though masculine, she was somewhat fair to the eyes of most normal men, with pouty lips, dirty brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and an angular face.

"Sarah's getting twitchy . . . I'd rather not be in her path when she kicks off," her glossy lips twisted into an amused smirk.

"You'd be dead either way," Sarah replied emotionlessly.

Rickshaw eyed the brutish patient cautiously and nodded, "I'll allow it, find someplace else to sit then."

Pamela smiled pleasantly, a delicate thing that passed on her lips so readily, and gracefully strode across the circle. She settled herself beside Dante in the empty chair next to his left.

The doctor grunted, "let's move on. Sarah, would you like to say anything next?"

All eyes rounded to the moody woman. Tanned skin and olive eyes complimented each other well. She was quite a bit larger than most people. Muscles were well-trained into large, vein-driven machines, and a black tank-top showcased those well. Her arms remained folded across her breast as she glared across the chamber, staring into the wall blankly. A scoff escaped her lips and she folded those broad, muscular legs, shrouded by black leggings, grumbling aloud.

"They already know my name, this is meaningless," she said, shaking her head almost sleepily, "introductions . . . horseshit. There's no fuckin' point in introducing myself to these shitheads again."

"Well, she looks pleasant," Dante muttered under his breath.

And in turn, Jack whispered, "Matey, that's nothing, she's in a fairly good mood now."

" _ That's _ a decent mood?" he silently questioned with a lifted eyebrow, "She reminds me of a raging rhinoceros."

Jack came alive laughing, lightly slapping his knee.

And it was then the woman's attention came to them, the laugh triggering her rage, and there came a shout from her side of the room, "Hey! You got somethin' you wanna say to me?"

"Uh-" Dante felt disarmed almost, "-no, no ma'am. Just a joke on Rickety-shaw here."

Quick-thinking was always his strong suit, even if that meant sometimes making mistakes.

The amount of successes far outweighed the failures. Sarah, it seemed, took it well.

Smirking, she said, "Yeah, I bet Rickets doesn't understand the first thing about people."

Like that, she and the good doctor were arguing back and forth.

From his other side Pamela chuckled, murmuring to him, "Well, that's one way to deal with her, I suppose, although she's more like a rampaging bull than a rhino."

The man looked over to her and smiled, "Ya think so?"

"Oh definitely, give it just a few months and you'll figure everything out. Sarah's a loose cannon even on a good day."

The man threw her an amused look.

"Well, that's one less reason to get to know her," he told her with a wink, and Pamela chuckled, her eyes twinkling.

Sarah, meanwhile, was continuing to disagree with Rickshaw, her expression growing more sour by the minute.

"I understood we had a compromise," the doctor said, exasperated, "that you would at least  _ try _ . Making jokes at my expense is not an adequate substitute for interaction," he told her flatly, calm as ever, "would you prefer to finish up in solitary confinement, hm? I am willing to visit you there once I've completed the group session."

He lifted a brow awaiting her response.

The woman glared at the doctor, worse than any look Dante thought possible. She growled savagely. Smashing her hand down on the chair's armrest, she snapped the wood structure into splinters, destroying the piece almost entirely, though, her hand appeared to be perfectly fine afterwards, in spite of the physical exertion. Around them, the armed guards clad in riot gear prepared to intervene, but the doctor held his hand in signal and forced them to wait. She hurled out a kick and her leg hit the chair Pamela had been previously sitting in. The leg of it instantly broke off and the chair fell over to the ground with a thud.

"God damn you," she growled, and though her anger was visible, some form of sanity prevailed, and she settled into place, "Fine . . . I'm Sarah."

And the guards relaxed.

"I've been in this shithole for six years," she explained, adding, "and I still say this is bullshit."

The doctor offered a strained smile and an aggravated tone, "yes, well . . . thank you Sarah, that wasn't so complicated, now was it?"

The woman stubbornly declined to answer and stood from her damaged chair, the security in waiting still tense from her outburst watching her ever so closely as the watchful eyes of the doctor kept them at bay, and she marched off toward the large window that stood nearby. The skies were heavy with rain and darkness. A common symptom of the east. From there on, she ignored the group altogether.

Dante grinned as he observed the odd little unit they were. At the very least, it wasn't boring here, compared to being detained in his room.

"Alright, moving on. Peter, would you please?" Following the doctor's line of sight, Dante regarded the slight, amber-eyed young man for the first time, his black skin and curly short hair painted him a distinct figure within the room.

Even Sarah turned from the window to glance at the feeble man.

"Come on Peter, there's no reason to be shy, you know most of us," coaxed Rickshaw with a knowing smile, the young man glancing up with a stern stare, though he began to nod slowly.

"Hi. I'm Peter. I've been here for five years now, and I don't want to talk."

He became silent. His eyes flickered briefly towards Sarah, her steely glare catching his gaze just briefly before he dipped his head back toward the ground.

"It's okay Peter, you can talk in your own time," the doctor said.

Peter seemed sheepish and tired, but he nodded in understanding.

Rickshaw lightly clapped his hands together once, and a pleased smile formed on his face.

"Good! Good, now . . . introductions are out of the way," the spectacled man looked at his notes and readjusted his glasses, "so, let's dive in. Dante, since you're our newest member, I'll explain to you exactly what goes on here. This group was formed because all of you have a common belief that you are . . . 'different' from others. You believe yourselves to be in the possession of gifts that enable you heightened purpose and self-worth because of imagined external factors. The resultant intention of this group is, as I have always reiterated whenever a new patient joins us, that we examine the nature of these perceptions and come to the root of it. And also . . . examine the possibility that you may be mistaken."

A scoff came from Sarah, "aaaah, you always say the same thing over and over, telling us we're crazy."

Slowly she trudge back toward the circle, taking a seat as she continued, "we're not crazy, okay? You just refuse to listen, you got some kind of problem with anything you can't understand."

"Mmm," the doctor almost groaned, "and as I've said before, this is an environment in which you're perfectly free to express your opinion. My goal is not to control you, I only seek to understand so that I may help. I'm your friend-"

"Bullshit," Sarah said, interrupting, "respectfully, bullshit. You're not our friend, you're not some Jesus Christ sent by god to help us out, you're a worm in a doctor's coat who pokes and prods the experiments with a big needle. And you get to do that because you're perceived as being more sane than us. You're just as deluded, you're just as broken, the only difference between you and us is that you're better at it, better at hiding it . . . but it'll come out, one day. They'll see, all your friends here, all your nurses, the Warden . . . they'll all see one day just exactly what kind of maniac you are."

An awkward silence took hold among them.

"Yes," the doctor replied, "I'm sure. I'm sure of it every time you tell me that same speech. I may not be your friend, but I  _ am _ the closest thing to it in here. All I ask is trust, nothing else. As you can see, Dante," the man said, glancing back towards the hunter, "some people have their pre-determined opinions, and they're welcome to them, but that just isn't the purpose of this group."

The man leaned forward and nodded his head, "yeah, I see, you give free reign to the crazies and they let you run the show for a while."

The doctor chuckled and nodded to himself, "you could put it that way. I believe in healing through facing reality, it's a common methodology."

"Gotcha, gotcha . . ." the man replied, "well, you know, we all gotta start somewhere."

"Yes. So, your case-notes highlight that you believe yourself to be a . . ." the man glanced up from the open folder on his lap, ". . . A demon hunter."

Quizzically, Dante placed his hand at his chin and spoke, "Is there something wrong, doc?"

"Hmmm . . . no, no, uh- everything's alright."

"Are ya sure? Cause it sounds pretty insane to me," Dante told him.

Rickshaw scowled at first, the young man's comment catching his pride off-guard, but then he smiled, "I see, you've got your wits about you. Well then, tell me what you meant by 'demon hunter?'"

Everyone at once looked toward him in interest, even the cynical Sarah, anticipating his reply.

Dante offered a casual shrug, "whaddya think I meant, Doc? Aren't you the professional?"

The doctor chuckled, "deflecting from the question is not going to help this move any quicker."

Over the rim, James scrutinized the snowy man and read a section from the open file, "In any case, I see here a report from your detaining officer that's particularly interesting to me, and I'd like to ask you about it, if that's okay with you," he asked, and the boy nodded casually, "good, good . . . Officer Cole is quoted here as saying, 'the kid was wacko, kept jabbering on about demons from hell, said that was why he was armed to the teeth with all those weapons,'" the Doctor recited, "Tell us about these demons."

Dante smirked and scoffed, "You don't wanna know about 'em."

"Mr. Dante, I do encourage-"

"Don't call me 'mister,' okay?" the hunter interrupted, "I'm not some old fuddy-duddy in a suit, so don't call me that."

"Okay, whatever you like," Rickshaw said, "I just want you to know that you would do yourself a great service by opening up to us and sharing things about yourself, anything at all. It doesn't have to be what you were brought here for, it could be anything you want, you just have to speak. We have plenty of time, and this group meets frequently, as you'll find, so the earlier that you speak up, the sooner it is that we can help you."

"Yeah, sure, that's real nice. You forgot about the part that says 'but this nuthouse is still a prison, so you'll spend your entire sentence in here anyway,'" Dante replied.

"Now that's simply not true. You have a parole hearing in three years, you can always make your case then, and a young man like yourself, strong-willed and affable, you'd make a shining example of someone who deserves their freedom, but, the verdict will depend on how well  _ these _ sessions go. I can make you a recommendation within your file, you just have to want it, you've got to trust me. Prove to us that you want to get better. The first step to solving any problem is recognizing that there is one."

He looked at the doctor sitting there with his pen and his paper, his horn-rimmed glasses sitting comfortably on his face. What a smug prick.

The pale youth shrugged, "They're big and scary. And I don't mean they're like Frankenstein or the Wolfman, they defy what you think you know. Some of em' got teeth like razors and claws like, I dunno, some wild animal you might've seen the last time you went hunting. They're not pleasant. You ever been alone in your house at night and felt like there was somethin' watching you in the dark? That's what they are. They're the boogiemen, and they can get around little walls like the ones you got in this place, and when they do, they start chewing on humans. It's kind of the main thing in their diet."

They all stared at him in silence.

"Hey man, you asked," Dante shrugged offering the doctor a wide smirk.

"Hmmm," the doctor remained as relaxed as possible, taking notes, "When did you first start to see them?"

Dante smirked, "I can't remember. They've been with me all my life."

Rickshaw lifted a quizzical brow, "I see," and the doctor made more notes on his clipboard before looking back to the pale youth, "opening up wasn't so hard, was it? I think we'll leave it there for now. Today was a light day, it was an introductory day, so I scheduled it to be short. But, others will be longer, and I promise you'll get more acquainted with our new resident just as well. And Dante, we  _ will _ talk about this further, these steps are critical to your improvement."

"Yeah, neat," the young man replied, "are we done?"

"For now," Rickshaw smiled, optimistic today had gone well. He preferred a slow-burn effect, to introduce newcomers to a group such as this with ease, slowly, slowly, steadily, kindly. The doctor's attention was, thankfully, snagged by Wendy's sudden approach. Her delicate frame lifting ever so slightly, and she stood from her seat to speak directly with the spectacled man. The pair became quite animated in their discussion, though the others couldn't care less. Dante spied Sarah turning her attention to the quiet boy, Peter, her eyes narrowing in on him with an almost sadistic gleam.

Shrugging off a shudder, the young man turned his gaze away. He felt something resembling shame. Shame for Peter, shame for his own ineffectual ability, and shame that he was likely unable to provide for him and help. Sarah was built unlike any other woman he'd ever encountered. If ever there was a female who was intimidating as all of hell itself, she was the definitive example.

"Poor fella," Pamela said quietly to him, "He's always got to deal with her."

Those silver eyes had turned to observe the brawny women continuing her deep observations of the smaller boy.

"Ah well," Dante began, unsure what to say, "I'm sure he's . . . fine. I do feel bad for him though."

"Peter's used to that by now, he'll manage," was all she said, biting her lip, "we've all settled into our habits, you'll see."

"Not much of a habit guy, habits are boring," he said.

She tilted her head, "yes . . . they are. I like a break from tradition."

He took note of her smile, "ah good, I was beginning to think everyone in here was dull."

"I think you'll come to find, that's certainly not the case . . . Dante," she said, leaning closer towards him, and he felt almost as if the curves of her shape had became even more prominent, as if the warm breath on her lips had tainted his vision and romanticized what he saw in her. The tips of her fingers brushing his chest, a coy smile stretching her lips.

"Well," Dante smirked, eyebrows raising slightly, "I certainly hope you won't disappoint."

"Mmm hmm . . . you'll see," Pamela winked.

Rickshaws voice suddenly rose above the group's scattered chatter, "alright, that fully concludes our session for the day, the wardens will be along shortly to escort each of you back to your rooms, except Pamela. May I speak with you?"

"See you 'round," she said.

As security personnel took them all away, he did his best to keep his eyes focused on her sitting there plainly, her crimson hair and buxom figure a clear reminder of one thing that would not be awful inside this prison. The doctor pinned her with a disapproving frown, agitated.

A whistle came from his right, and he looked to see Jack as they were walking him down the hall, "lucky bugger!"

Dante smirked, and they wandered off toward the door as the wardens continued to escort him from the room, and yet, something he felt had changed within its confines. The man's eyes scanned the room till he spotted that same potted plant in the corner, no longer withering and sad. The once-brown-spotted leaves had become a vibrant green within just a few minutes.

"Cool," he muttered, and with that, off he went to the confinement of his cell once more.

**To Be Continued**

**Sorry for the wait guys, lotta shit happened in between then and now, but here's the second chapter, hope you guys dig it.**

  
  



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